


storge + eros

by shineonloki



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Five Plus One, Hurt/Comfort, Loki is in His Thirties, M/M, Older Loki, Thor is Sixteen, Uncle/Nephew Incest, Underage Kissing, Voyeurism, young thor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-14 01:30:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17499083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shineonloki/pseuds/shineonloki
Summary: Loki is in trouble.Walls he had so carefully built were crushed like a sandcastle by one, irritatingly charming boy.Five innocent kisses, plus one damning one.





	storge + eros

__storge // familial love  
+  
_eros // passionate love_

**i.**

Odin calls him close to midnight, it wakes him out of a dead sleep and he frowns at his phone.

His older brother never calls him this late. If he’s being honest— never calls him at all. Loki stares at the screen. A picture of them from the family reunion, the one where they are smiling and carefree, stares back at him.

After a brief hesitation, he answers.

“Hello?”

“Loki,” Odin gasps. He sounds on the edge of excitement and panic. “Frigga is in labor.”

The drive to the hospital is a blur. He’d haphazardly thrown on sweats and a jacket, not bothering to brush his hair, not bothering to brush his teeth.

His relationship with Odin being strained at best, Loki is determined not to mess this up. It’s a chance to cleanse himself of the Black Sheep title, and to show his brother he can be more than what he is.

And, if he has to admit, the idea of being an uncle is thrilling.

 

Odin emerges from the hallway and into the waiting room sometime later. He’s dressed in scrubs, a medical mask covering the lower half of his face. Loki doesn’t need to see his lips to know he’s smiling— his entire face is aching with pride.

Loki can’t say he blames him. Thor is perfect; head of blonde hair, blue eyes, powerful lungs, and chubby arms. He’s smitten within seconds of approaching the bed.

“He’s beautiful,” Loki tells Frigga, softly. She smiles at him— radiant and lovely, even with the tired bags beneath her eyes.

They all need to rest, Thor included.

Loki kisses the tips of his fingers and presses them to the baby-soft curls atop his nephew’s forehead.

Odin claps him on the back on his way out and thanks him for coming.

 

**ii.**

It’s noon on a Thursday; which means Odin or Frigga will be at the door with Thor any moment. It’s his day to watch him, and he finds himself looking forward to it like clockwork. It gives him a sense of purpose in his otherwise messy life.

He’s older now, twenty-one, and lucky that they trust him enough to do this.

Loki’s living room looks like a day-care. There is a playpen in the corner, Thor’s toys already pulled down from the closet, and the coffee table is carefully moved to the wall for optimal play space.

When Frigga finally knocks on the door, a squirming and babbling Thor in her arms, she practically shoves him to Loki’s chest. She looks exhausted, which he imagines she is. Taking care of a toddler while six months pregnant is no easy task. He suspects, at least.

“Has he had a nap?” Loki asks.

“No. If you put him down, make sure it's early. I don’t want him up all night.”

Thor pillows his head on Loki’s shoulder, cooing while tiny little fists reach up to tangle in his hair. Loki holds him with one arm and takes the bag with the other. He’s gotten quite good at this, and he isn’t too proud to admit it.

More than that, he likes it.

Once inside, Loki lets Thor do what a three-year-old does best. Run around and wreak havoc.

It doesn’t usually take much for his little nephew to tire himself out, and he lets him do just that as he prepares lunch— peanut butter and jelly, no crusts, cut into triangles.

Loki spills the apple juice when he hears a loud wail from the living room. His heart stops in his chest. Crying is good, he tells himself as he makes his way to Thor.

Crying is better than no crying at all.

He rounds the corner and is met with a red-faced Thor, cheeks wet as he sniffs back his tears. Loki immediately drops to his knees and Thor falls into his arms, little chest heaving with sobs.

“What’s wrong?” Loki asks, rubbing small circles into his back. “What happened?”

Thor pulls back, watery blue eyes staring at him. Loki sees it now, the red whelp on his forehead. He brushes his fingers along it, causing Thor to wince— but he’s a strong boy, and he lets Loki inspect it. Sure enough, beneath the skin is a knot.

“My head,” Thor tells him, and Loki smiles.

“I see that.”

“It hurts,” he sniffles back. It would break his heart if it wasn’t so adorable.

“Do you know what will help?”

Thor shakes his head but watches him expectantly. Loki brings two of his fingers to his lips and kisses them, then lightly presses them against Thor’s forehead. His nephew beams up at him, and Loki sweeps blonde curls back and kisses him again on his hairline.

“Feel better?”

Thor nods enthusiastically, and Loki’s heart swells in his chest.

 

**iii.**

“Uncle Loki!” Thor crashes into him, wrapping lanky arms around Loki’s waist and nuzzling his head into his stomach. “I can’t believe I get to stay all summer with you!”

Frigga gives him an apologetic look as Odin comes around the corner of the van lugging two suitcases. His brother looks older than he’s ever seen him, hair graying and lines on his face. Despite that, he looks happy— and Loki can be happy for him.

“Are you sure you didn’t want me to take Balder too?”

“Our parents are watching him,” Odin tells him. Loki looks away, and then back down at Thor. Their parents are never an easy topic. He wonders if they know Thor is choosing to stay here.

Odin’s face tells it all. They do, and they don’t approve.

That’s fine.

Thor is practically vibrating with excitement when they stand at the end of the driveway and watch the mini-van drive away. He talks non-stop, as ten-year-old boys often do, filling every crevasse of silence with stories of his school friends, little league baseball, teachers he likes, teachers he hates, and how much he is looking forward to spending the summer with him.

And, Loki doesn’t get a word in edge-wise, but it hardly matters. He loves to hear Thor so bright and enthusiastic about life.

Their summer flies by— his brother calls nightly to ask Loki how everything is going. He’s worried, but it isn’t because he doesn’t trust Loki. He does, it took a long time, but there are finally in a good place. Loki hands Thor the phone when Odin puts Frigga on, and there is always a flurry of “ _I miss you too_ ” and “ _I love you too_ ”.

This is the first time they’ve vacationed without their children. Loki can’t fault them for that. They love them, but they deserve a break too.

Plus, Loki loves his nephew.

When he tucks him in at night, Thor turns his head in presentation, with his covers pulled to his chin and his hair pushed back to reveal his forehead.

Loki kisses his fingers and presses them against the soft skin and tells him goodnight.

 

**vi.**

His date pauses mid-bite and blinks, fork hovering over his gaping mouth.

“What?” Loki asks because he looks like he’s seen a ghost. Surely his Spaghetti Bolognese isn’t that bad.

“Someone is knocking on your door.”

It’s late in the evening and he isn’t expecting anyone. Loki pauses then, setting his own fork down and strains to listen. A rhythmic pattern of knocks breaks the silence, and Loki sighs.

He knows that beat.

Thor is waiting on the other side of the door, red-faced and out of breath, clinging to the handles of his bike. Loki doesn’t immediately move to let him in, and it garners an automatic response. Thor cranes his neck to look inside, and Loki side-steps him.

He doesn’t really know why.

Thor is fifteen. He’s old enough to understand what a date is.

“What are you doing here?”

Thor props his bike on the side of the house and gives him a look brimming with faux-offense. “Is that any way to greet your favorite nephew?”

Loki’s lips quirk into a smile. He knows he isn’t supposed to call himself that anymore— not after he did so in front of Balder and Loki didn’t correct him. There had been an onslaught of tears that only stopped after Loki assured him that he loved them both equally, and then took them both out for ice cream.

Loki still feels guilty about that— but, only because he lied.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming over,” Loki says carefully, still not opening the door more than necessary.

“Do I have to?” Thor eyes the silver sedan parked next to his car, eyebrows rise and then furrow. “Whose car is that?”

Loki stays silent and looks back over his shoulder to see his date sitting patiently at the dinner table. His leg is shaking slightly, nerves probably. Loki can’t imagine what this looks like.

“Do you have someone over?”

“A friend,” Loki counters.

“You don’t have friends.”

He’s almost offended by the amount of skepticism in Thor’s voice. It’s not true, Loki has friends. Acquaintances is a more accurate term, but he doesn’t have time to argue details.

Something clicks on Thor’s face, and he lets out a little gasp. Scandalized.

“You’re on a date!”

Loki doesn’t confirm or deny.

“You can come over tomorrow.”

Thor’s normally cheery face goes steely. He yanks his bike up from where he had only just earlier propped it on the wall. It’s strangely aggressive, and Loki can’t help but to feel he’s done something to upset him. Perhaps its because no matter the time or day, Loki always accepts him into his house. Announced or unannounced.

This is the first time he’s turned Thor away, and his hurt is evident in the way he peddles off without another word.

 

Despite the interruption, the rest of his night goes well. There is no denying the unsettling feeling coiling around his gut. His date talks animatedly, and Loki smiles and nods at all the correct moments, but his head is a thousand miles away.

Or, three miles away, rather. To Thor, upset with him for the first time. This isn’t a matter of Loki not letting him have dessert before dinner. This is a more adult emotion.

One Loki didn’t dare put a name to.

Loki hasn’t touched his food, instead pushes it around on his plate and watches the young man across from him. Tanned— artificial, of course. Dirty blonde hair, a bit on the longer side, but not quite as long as Loki’s own. Blue eyes, but not as bright as—

He shakes his head and forces himself to eat.

His date never mentions their visitor again. When it’s time for him to go, he kisses Loki at the door and Loki returns it, if only out of politeness. He gets in his car and drives away and leaves Loki to stare at ruts in the mud from Thor’s hasty exit.

 

Thor shows up the next day. He doesn’t knock, just blows right in and finds Loki in the kitchen. He eyes the two wine glasses sitting in the sink, and Loki leans against the counter. Blocks them from view.

He looks calmer—that’s good. There is still a distance behind his eyes as he stares at some spot behind Loki’s head. He seems older like this, void of his youthful smiles and laughs. Loki is left wondering when exactly Thor stopped being that lanky little kid, clinging and following him around like a lost puppy.

“Have you eaten?”

Thor shakes his head. There is something he wants to say but isn’t. Loki can tell by the way he chews at his bottom lip until its red, and in the way that he refuses to meet Loki’s eyes as he putters around the kitchen to make them quick sandwiches.

“How was your date?” Thor asks once they both settled at the kitchen table. His lips are snarled in thinly-veiled disgust, and Loki knows its not from the peanut-butter and jelly held in his hands.

“It was okay,” Loki tells him, chewing thoughtfully. It’s not a lie—but it hadn’t been great either, for reasons he couldn’t fully explain. “There won’t be a second.”

A glint of satisfaction in Thor’s private smile. It isn’t meant for Loki to see, but he sees it all the same.

“You hurt my feelings, you know?” He says it so nonchalantly, Loki is almost caught off guard. His chest sinks, he has never wanted to hurt Thor— in any way.

Loki sits his sandwich down and scoots his chair closer. Thor watches him carefully, goes back to chewing at his lip instead of his food.

“I’m sorry,” Loki tells him. He kisses his fingertips and presses them to Thor’s cheek, which instantly turns a pretty shade of red. “Better?”

Thor laughs, small and nervous, but its better than the tension between them. “No,” he says with a shake of his head. “Here.” He reaches over and grabs Loki’s wrist and guides his hand to his chest, right above his heart— Loki can feel the beat beneath his fingertips.

“Oh,” Loki breathes out. He repeats the gesture, kissing the pads of his fingers but pressing them against Thor’s breast. It feels different, less like a joke.

But, Thor smiles at him and its okay. They are okay.

Loki forgets about the two wine glasses in the sink.

 

** v. **

The next summer, Loki comes to an alarming conclusion.

It's something that’s been sitting in the back of his mind for nearly a year. Something that, until now, he hadn’t put a name to. Naming it will only make it more real, more tangible.

Worst of all, he’ll have to confront his personal feelings on the realization.

But— visit after visit, day after day— it grows more obvious.

Thor has a crush.

He was sixteen; he should be out with friends, or the very least, people his own age. He wasn’t though. Every day he would show up at Loki’s doorstep, content to spend the day lounging around his house and eating all his food. Being a general nuisance, but Loki never shoos him away.

Sometimes he brings Balder with him. His youngest nephew, while sweet and polite, never wants to stay long— always complaining about being bored. Eventually, Thor stops letting him tag along.

He sits too close. He stares too long. He asks too many questions. He does all the things a teenager who doesn’t know what to do with a crush does. Painfully obvious. It's endearing.

Which, Loki recognizes, is something he shouldn’t find endearing.

But he’s ignored the flags for too long, and now it’s too late.

It hits him like a freight train.

They are sitting on the porch, summer sunset in the distance, playing orange and pinks off Thor’s sun-kissed skin. His hair is damp with sweat, curling at the base of his ears, rivets dripping down to the nape of his neck. Loki studies the shape of his nose, the bow of his lip, the flutter of his lashes. He’s beautiful, perfect.

Loki stands abruptly and makes his way to the front door, heart pounding in his chest. It may break his ribs.

“You okay?” Thor asks, looking over his shoulder, brows creased with concern.

“Just hot.”

It's not a lie. He’s burning. Thor gives him one of those wide, close-lipped smiles he’s grown to love so much, and turns back to face the yard and setting sun.

 

Thor shows up in his study a week later, swaying a little on his feet, a dazed look on his face. Loki notices the blood smeared on the corner of his mouth immediately. He’s to Thor in seconds, grabbing at his chin when his nephew pulls away, tries to hide his busted lip.

“Thor, what happened?” Loki attempts to sound gentle, but there is an anger welling inside him and it shows through in the roughness of his question. Possessive, almost.

“It’s nothing.”

It’s _not_ nothing. The break in his lip isn’t from an accident, and now, up close, Loki can see the beginnings of a purple bruise beneath his eye.

“Who did this?”

It isn’t a question of what anymore.

Thor shoulders from his touch, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. There are cuts on his knuckles, and he stares down like he hadn’t expected so much blood. He looks back to Loki, eyes wide— he looks ten years younger, a knobby little thing who got a scrap and came running to his uncle.

Thor clearly isn’t going to talk, and Loki sighs and motions toward the bathroom.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

As defiant as he's been since arriving, Thor follows without question. Loki’s bathroom is small, which has never been an issue seeing that it was just him. In the cramped space, Thor’s presence is overwhelming where he hops up on the porcelain sink counter, gripping the edge tightly.

Loki hasn’t used his first-aid kit in years, usually reserved for one rowdy nephew. Thor is a teenager now, he has fewer bumps and bruises. But now they have apparently upgraded to fist fights.

He takes out ointment and a cotton ball, squeezing by Thor to run it under warm water. When he pulls back, Thor is staring at him with a look Loki can’t quite put his finger on. They are close, too close. Loki’s heart is a rhythmic thump against his chest, his stomach flipping and tying itself into knots. He ignores it the best he can, and with shaky fingers dabs away the drying blood from Thor’s mouth.

Thor never breaks eye contact, but Loki plays doctor the best he can.

There is a small cut beneath the red. Not too deep, probably won’t scar. It cleans up easily enough, anyway.

“There,” Loki breathes out, leaning back to admire his handiwork. Thor doesn’t smile, doesn’t make any note that he’s heard him at all. He hopes the damage is only superficial, and he wishes he knew exactly what happened. It wasn’t like Thor to get in scuffles with others.

“How’d you know?”

Loki jumps back, startled by the first words Thor has spoken since first arriving. There isn’t much context to go off, so Loki can only guess he means the origin of his injuries.

“Lucky guess.”

Thor frowns, slightly shakes his head, and turns his eyes to the ground, the space between them. Though, there isn’t much space at all. Loki instantly becomes hyper-aware of the how _little_ space there is, and how Thor’s legs are bracketing his hips to allow him closer. When Loki looks up, Thor is no longer looking at the ground, but right at him, swollen lips parted with shallow breaths and red cheeks.

“Aren’t you going to kiss it?”

Loki tries to back up, but he’s caught between Thor and the wall. Even worse than that, is the way his brain interprets the request for something more. It takes a moment longer than necessary to get his bearings, and he kisses his fingertips and presses them to the cut on Thor’s lip.

They are dry, slightly chapped, but soft and plump. He lets himself linger just a tad too long and pulls away just as Thor licks his lips.

There is static electricity in the air. He needs to get out, but Thor’s hand is on his wrist, keeping him in place. He could break away, but he doesn’t. Helpless to Thor, always has been.

“That’s cheating,” Thor whispers, voice scratchy and low. It sends a shiver down his spine, a jolt of electricity.

The intent is clear.

He needs to leave, right away. He needs to go.

But Thor looks so helpless. He’s not. Loki knows that. The only one helpless is him. He’s never had a strong resolve. Not where it mattered. Sixteen years of rebuilding his relationship with his brother and his family. Trust, responsibility, loyalty— could he throw it all away for one self-indulgence?

Depraved, his parents had called him. Wrong. Corrupt.

If he gives Thor what he asks for— if he takes what he so desperately wants— he makes them right.

Loki pulls away, and he leaves before he can see the disappointment on his nephew’s face.

That snake in his heart rears its ugly head, the darkness slithers from his hiding place. There is something broken in him. Thor is a kid with a crush. His brother’s son, his nephew. He doesn’t know any better. It's his job, as the adult, to stop this.

He wishes he wanted to stop this.

 

**vi.**

Loki avoids Thor like the plague, and it hurts in the worst way imaginable.

He runs into his old date at the supermarket, the one from over a year ago. The one that looks like Thor. He takes him home and fucks him face-down until he’s a babbling mess beneath him. It does nothing to satisfy the itch, only proves to make it worse.

A month later, Odin calls him close to midnight.

Their father has passed away, and Loki feels nothing in the emptiness of the hole the man had left in his heart. He doesn’t cry, but thanks his brother for letting him know. He doesn’t ask when the funeral is, and Odin doesn’t tell him.

He expects Thor in the morning, but not sitting on his porch with his arms hanging loosely between his legs when he goes out to get the morning paper. Thor’s cheeks are red from both the cold and tears.

Loki realizes maybe this is the first time he’s ever experienced death.

“Can I be here?” Thor sniffs, rubbing at his nose. He looks so defeated, and Loki’s heart breaks at the sight, and at the thought that Thor would ever think he wasn’t welcome.

The fact that Loki has made him feel this way.

“Of course, come inside.”

 

Loki sits a hot cup of tea in front of him, and Thor sips it graciously. They sit there in silence together, enjoying each other’s quiet company. Loki knows Thor was close to his father— _his_ grandfather. It hurts Thor in a way that Loki can’t relate.

“I know you didn’t talk to him,” Thor finally says. He’s staring at his tea, swirling his spoon in slow circles.

 _He didn’t talk to me_ , Loki wants to correct— but doesn’t.

“No one has ever told me why,” he adds. He looks so small beneath the bulk of his big jacket, rain still clinging to his forehead.

Loki sets his cup down and sighs. “I was a difficult child,” he says carefully. “I caused a lot of trouble, a lot of grief.”

“Is it because you’re gay?”

He nearly chokes at the bluntness but clears his throat and directs his attention to the outside window. He’s never said it, not out loud.

“I think that’s why they never attempted to reconnect— After I grew up and matured.”

“You mean got old and boring?” Thor asks, the first hint of his cheery self, still layered under thick sadness. Loki smiles at him from across the table and hums an affirmation.

“When you were born, I was eighteen and slumming it from couch to couch. I couldn’t believe your dad called me. I wanted to prove to him that he didn’t make a mistake by allowing me in your life.”

Which is what he is doing, proving so very easily that Odin should have never called.

“They didn’t like me staying here,” Thor says quietly. “I always took up for you. I wanted them to apologize, before—”

Fresh tears spill from Thor’s eyes, but he blinks them back and doesn’t acknowledge that they were there at all. There is a tremor in his left hand, a nervous habit that Loki shares.

“I forgave them long ago,” Loki tells him, the white lie easily rolling off his tongue. The truth is, Loki could never forgive them for the years of self-hatred they knowingly caused. But it makes Thor feel better—and that’s all he has ever wanted.

It's all he’s good at.

“Can I stay the night?”

Loki nods, reaches across the table and pats at the back of his hand. Thor watches, staring at the skin like he’s been burned. When Loki draws his hand away, Thor’s fingers twitch like they want to chase. He doesn’t though, just drums them along the tabletop.

“We can watch a movie,” Loki says, smiling. It will be comforting, a familiar ritual they’ve done for years. “You can even pick.”

 

They go about the day easily. He shoots a text to Frigga and lets her know Thor is staying the night. She thanks him, as she always does, and that kernel of guilt makes itself known. Loki buries it down deep.

Thor is quieter than normal, not so eager to fill the silence. He does speak though, in random spurts, recalling memories of times with his grandfather. He’s trying to make him seem more amenable, and Loki will never tell Thor how it hurts to hear of a man he never truly knew. Still, he is happy Thor was able to garner more pleasant memories.

So, he lets him talk. He lets him heal his grief the only way he knows how. Loki won’t deny him that simple luxury.

 

When the sun sets low, and a foggy blue seeps through the curtains and dims the day, Loki hands Thor a fresh towel and change of clothes and instructs him to take a shower. Loki hears the door shut and the tap turns on and he pulls out the old blankets from the hall closet to prepare their movie night nest.

Thor pads in, barefoot, and still damp. As promised, Loki lets him pick the movie.

The lights are all off, and the title sequence is dark, and the only thing that Loki can see when Thor settles in beside him, is the soft features of his face illuminated by what little light was left. He’s sitting too close. His couch is no small thing, big enough for the both to lay and stretch on with room to spare, yet Thor sits hot against his hip. Any closer, he would be saddled on his lap.

Loki shuts his eyes, and wills that particular image out of existence.

He hopes Thor has picked a horror movie— he would love to focus on a monster that wasn’t himself.

Loki watches the movie in a haze, nothing processing fully. He’s too aware of his nephew’s presence, cuddling ever closer. More than that, in the moments when he tries desperately to pay attention to the plot, he can feel eyes on him. Close, and watching.

His eyes find Thor more than the screen, it is inevitable.

In the soft light of the movie, Loki can see the tiny nick of a scar on his lip. That day in the bathroom seems ages ago— between Thor’s legs, asking Loki to kiss him. He hates that he wanted to and _hates_ that he spent nights imagining what it would have been like.

Thor licks his lips, tongue running briefly over the scar. He’s been caught.

Loki hears nothing but the rush of blood to his ears, and his own voice when it comes out low and unsteady.

“Does it still hurt?”

Thor looks at him, only for a moment, and leans a little closer. He nods his head. It’s a lie, there is no way he can still feel the sting from the cut, but rather, the sting of something else.

His uncle’s rejection.

Thor, wonderful and beautiful Thor, hasn’t he been hurt enough?

“Would you like me to kiss it?”

Loki hears him suck in a breath, his eyes going wide, reflecting the happenings on the television like mirrors. He doesn’t say anything but nods again, and all the careful resolve that Loki has built for resistance to this moment crumbles into ash.

Thor lets out the breath when Loki presses, not his fingers, but his lips to the corner of his mouth. It’s a soft, chaste kiss, but even then, it is telling of much more.

When Loki pulls away, Thor once again tongues at the little spot, leaves it wet and glistening, and Loki is a weak monster of a man. He can’t help it, he leans in and kisses it, draws the taste of Thor into his mouth to savor.

Another, and Thor is turning to meet him, opening up or him so Loki can kiss him properly.

He does.

Thor’s mouth is warm, and pliant, taking every fevered press of Loki’s lips he can give. Returning them all with enthusiasm, young-spirited and a bit sloppy. Loki holds Thor’s cheek in his hand and guides him so that his back is resting against the armrest, and Loki looms over him, in a continuous stream of kisses.

There isn’t any telling how much time passes. Thor slumps down, and Loki’s legs have made their way to bracket his hips. He plants a hand on each side of his nephew’s face and pulls back. Thor is framed beneath him by a fall of Loki’s own dark hair, where it drapes forward and nearly tickles. Thor’s lips are red and swollen, wet from the onslaught and parted in eager anticipation for more. His chest is heaving up and down, and as Loki’s gaze travels lower…

Hard in his borrowed sweatpants.

Reality smacks him, sends his breath from his lungs like a shock of cold.

When he tries to leave, Thor stops him with a shaky hand. It’s a strong grip, but one Loki can easily break free from. He lets Thor hold him in place, despite every nerve firing a signal to his brain telling him to run. His actions are controlled by a much more foolish part of his body.

His heart—and, perhaps something else. Loki can’t deny his own beginnings of stiffness in his pajama bottoms, but he _can_ ignore it.

“Please,” Thor cracks out. It’s the first Loki has heard him speak, and he sounds wrecked and desperate. There is shifting beneath him as Thor cants his hips up— and Loki knows what he’s asking for.

“I can’t.”

Oh, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to. He hopes Thor understands the sentiment and the gravity of everything they’ve done so far. Actions with irreversible consequences.

“Okay,” Thor whispers, but the grip on Loki’s wrist doesn’t loosen. His face turns from disappointment to determination, and his free hand slides down his own stomach and dips beneath his waistband. Loki watches it, paralyzed and helpless to turn away. “Just watch then.”

Loki stays like that, on his hands and knees on the couch, over Thor like a blanket. The only thing that touches him is Loki’s hungry gaze as he pulls himself out and lets his erection bob and slap obscenely on his stomach.

Hesitantly, Thor lets go of Loki so that he can shimmy his pants down his hips, his thighs widening and knocking against Loki’s legs. It’d be so easy for him to bring his own weight down, to feel that pretty cock rub against his.

Thor reaches down and takes himself in hand, squeezing at the red tip until a pearl beads at the tip. He rubs his thumb along it, smearing it over his head and down his shaft before starting to stroke at a maddeningly slow pace.

Thor’s eyes are honed in on the tent in Loki’s pants, and he takes himself at the base and tilts his cock up— but Loki is just far enough out of reach it doesn’t graze. Thor whines and Loki moves a hand down to hold Thor’s hip in place before he can tilt them up.

Loki rubs encouraging circles into the dip of Thor’s hips. He doesn’t dare open his mouth, for fear of what would fall out. That touch is enough to bring Thor close, because his breath comes out in stuttering pants and the rhythm of his fist quickens and falters before his body tightens.

Loki watches, with rapt attention as he streaks his stomach and knuckles, working himself through it with a strangled moan.

It takes patience that Loki isn’t aware he has to resist the primal urge to lick him clean. Thor brings a messy hand to his mouth and does it himself, drawing back and making a face.

They both laugh, and the post-orgasm awkwardness vanishes around them.

Reality will set in later, Loki knows. For now, he will enjoy this monstrous indulgence.

Thor wipes his hand down the fronts of sweatpants— well, Loki’s sweatpants, to be exact. Its fine though, a possessive thrill takes root in knowing something of his is marked with Thor.

“Was that okay?” Thor asks, full of uncertainty. He doesn’t sound regretful though, just insecure.

“Yes,” Loki tells him.

It’s a lie because it's not okay, and neither are his desires to take Thor back to his room and fuck him with his fingers until he’s hard again and ready to take his cock.

Thor’s hand reaches out, and nearly brushes against the fullness between Loki’s thighs—but, he stops him and sits back on his haunches, out of Thor’s reach.

He can’t, somehow Thor seeing his release would be crossing a boundary, absurdly enough. He doesn’t think he could stop.

He doesn’t think he wants it to.

Loki has always been helpless to Thor, always softened beneath his thumb.

“Will you kiss me then?”

Loki is in trouble. He thought himself past his days of mischief. He thought he had grown into a somewhat respectable adult. Walls he had so carefully built were crushed like a sandcastle by one, irritatingly charming boy.

They meet each other half-way in a press of lips.

**Author's Note:**

> special thanks to hussy, my uncle!loki gremlin wife


End file.
